A Day in the Life
by Meixia
Summary: written during a stream-of-consciousness. A day out of Lex's life, and how you really can't trust anyone but yourself and that alien with the red cape.


A/N: I apologize for all these stream-of-consciousness short fics, but damnit, my muses are dry. Dry I tell you! From Lex's POV, if you couldn't tell. Um, did I mention most of my fics aren't beta'd? I should probably look into that -lol-.  
  
A Day in the Life by Meixia  
  
Life is interesting when you're looking down at it from the top of a 30- story building. There are ants down there, you realize, and the air really isn't that much better up high. The soles of your feet turn into liquid jelly, and your chest seizes with pain with every intake of breath.  
  
The birds that fly over your shoulder are doves.  
  
You don't register the gun pressed against your back, or the cold edge of the knife pressed against your throat, but you know they're there. You're calculating how long it will take before you hit the pavement if you fall. Three different deaths await you, and after all this time, you thought you were in control. You won't even be able to choose which way you go.  
  
Your mind flashes back to the last time you had coffee, home made from rich, fresh coffee beans. You can almost taste the chestnut on your tongue. You remember the first time you slid behind the wheel of a car, standard, windows tinted in black onyx, cream leather seats that stuck to the back of your thighs in high summer. The time when you almost died crashing into a boy and the both of you went tumbling into the water. And you thought you could cheat death forever.  
  
Somehow, you still have this millimeter of hope left inside that maybe, maybe, if you think hard enough, he'll hear your cry. Maybe he's in town and has a little free time on his hands, nothing better to do than to save an old, old friend.  
  
The reality, however, from 30 floors up, is quite depressing.  
  
In hindsight, you can see that perhaps it wasn't such a bright and brilliant move to sabotage your own company's success. Minions are quite useful, the right and left hands of the devil, but when they start questioning superior authority and rumors start floating around about some 'peasant' uprising, supremacy doesn't seem to appeal so much anymore. You know this now, that it is better to keep those below you in check. You suppose you should've known before, anyway, what with all the practice you've had with lies and deceit. It's probably the life humbling you, making sure you don't forget that this is what people are, just untruths and deception. Funny how you could've made yourself think otherwise.  
  
After all, you weren't just going to do good things; you were going to do great things. And for all purposes, you needed some semblance of trust in the unit beneath you to accomplish that. Too bad no one clued them in.  
  
The demise of a superior at the hands of his subjects is not uncommon in history. You didn't think it would ever happen to you. Sure, there were doubts about certain people's good intentions, and there were always suspicions that ran so deep you were almost sure some were dead set on betraying you, but you never actually envisioned it happening. It wasn't plausible, however convincing the leading evidence might've been, because you knew you were stronger, smarter, more capable than to let that happen.  
  
You never saw this coming.  
  
Blindness, it seems, is not just limited to your father.  
  
But even he isn't here to save you now, and in some corner of your mind, you hurt because he's your father. Of the same blood. Drinking scotch on a beach somewhere.  
  
And where is that old friend of yours? It isn't every day that your subordinates rise up and decide to grow some balls.  
  
You were reading reports when they came in a blur of charcoal suits and blue ties, menacing in only their size. You've faced tougher crowds of unhappy faces before, but this was a little more than your average share of one angry farmer and his distraught wife. Collectively, they wanted compensation for all the crap you put them through, but mostly it was about money. And predictably, you refused to give it to them. It wasn't like you didn't have enough money to hand out, because you sure as hell did if you had enough to buy old friends who've saved your life a couple of times a yacht on the coast of some bizarre island. Which you suspect they've never even set foot in. The point however, was that you wanted to make a point. You were not one to be swayed by their greed, and you weren't afraid of their threats.  
  
Still, the guns were pretty convincing, and even then you relented some. When the first few shots were fired and the bullets lodged into your leather chair, your favorite chair, you were already rapid firing away yes and yes and yes, you will all get your compensation and your damn money. But that didn't stop them from pulling you up, tying you up, and forcing you to walk along the edge of the roof of your building.  
  
Your building. There is something profoundly ironic about that  
  
And you think, what a way to go. Killed by the lowest scum of the earth, and they happen to be men who work for you, here on top of your building, in your town, because of your own blindness regarding that certain important trust factor.  
  
You might as well commit suicide. No doubt that's what they'll make it look like.  
  
And, but - Oh. Oh. Here comes your savior, sans the ridiculous blue and red get-up. You never liked it, anyway.  
  
"Hi, Lex." What a sight to open your eyes to, wonderful smile and this shine, this shine that just seeps through from behind him as if some miracle is happening.  
  
Or, it could just be the sun.  
  
You try to smile and show him how relieved you are to see him, but your face is stone cold. Blank. You can tell he sees it too because his own smile falters for a moment and is completely gone the next. Suddenly, faster than you can possibly think, the knife is no longer pressed menacingly against your throat, the circular barrel of the gun no longer pressed against your spine, and strong arms lift you away from the edge and back inside.  
  
When you feel solid ground beneath your feet again, you see that this is your office, your leather chair with a spray of bullets near where your head would've been, and there are still reports open on your laptop. When you turn around to finally offer a smile and your gratitude, he is gone.  
  
A familiar blur of red and blue rips by your window, and a familiar heap of pedestrian clothes - khakis and a blue button down shirt - lay in a haphazard heap on your balcony floor.  
  
Another death cheated thanks to your old friend. One of these days, you'll have to repay him with something more than just a yacht, even though he doesn't seem to appreciate it now.  
  
Some things never change.  
  
Your typical day in the life, and this little occurrence, however life threatening it was, doesn't even register as a blimp on your near-death- experiences radar.  
  
Maybe next time.  
  
End. 


End file.
